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DARACH’S BLADE PUNCHED through a warrior’s throat. Yanking it free from the man who still convulsed under him, he peered through the mass of struggling bodies, looking for his brother.

Curse it. Niall was still many yards distant, protected by a thick press that wasn’t giving way.

And then he heard someone scream his name.

Just a few feet away, one of the Circines—a tall, lean woman with braided hair—turned on the man next to her. She then started stabbing him viciously in the chest. Both went down and rolled sideways, off the road and into the tangle of briar that lined the southern edge of the highway, where alders leaned in.

Staggering upright, Darach glanced frantically around.

Maybe, he’d misheard. It could have been—

“Darach!”

Ailsa.

To his left. He lunged, teeth gritted, and started to hack his way to where a wall of Circines blocked his view.

Ailsa was in there. Between him and her stood nothing but bodies.

He slashed his way toward her. Someone screamed behind him, a long wail that cut off halfway.

He didn’t look back, didn’t stop.

“Darach!” Gods, he could hear the raw fear in her voice. Something had happened.

But for every warrior he shoved aside or cut down, another pushed back.

And then, suddenly, he found the enemy surrounded him.

Maddened Circines warriors came at him from all directions, hacking at him. Sweat poured down their faces. Their eyes blazed silver. Blood trickled down some of their chins, as if they’d bitten down on their tongues.

He slipped on blood-slick mud, rolled, and came up swinging.

Slashing one man across the face, he drove his shoulder into another and forced himself a pace forward.

Two more warriors filled the gap.

He cut one down. Another seized his sword arm.

A third hacked at his ribs.

He tore free, but he’d gained nothing.

Fuck. He was never going to get through them.

Not like this.

He had to call upon the beast.

He threw aside his broadsword and dropped to his knees. Mud splashed around him.

A shadow fell across him as another warrior raised an axe.

Come on then.

The change hit him straight in the gut, the same as always.

For one heartbeat he regretted his choice. The last time he’d done this he’d been alone, in a quiet wood, and had braced himself for it, yet there was no time now. His skin was already tearing before he’d finished the thought—agony lancing up his spine as it roached.